


At Least I Hold On When I Get Love

by Izzylike



Series: Snips, and Snails, and Puppy-Dogs' Tails [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzylike/pseuds/Izzylike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, she decides, she’d be quite alright, happy hopefully, marrying the Smalljon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least I Hold On When I Get Love

**Author's Note:**

> For the Prompt: "Jon "Smalljon" Umber/Sansa, Her father said she could marry any (Northern) man she wished to, so she choose Lord Umber's son, who'd always been kind to her."
> 
> A slight AU, in which Robert and the like never journeyed North, leaving Sansa un-betrothed. 
> 
> Warning: I wrote kinda-sex, which I find I cannot write, so feel free to criticize it.

Almost a full year after Sansa Stark has first flowered, Father brings her to his solar, sits her down, and asks her if there is any (Northern) man she may wish to wed. He informs her that she may take as long as she chooses to chose her future husband, but she starts to think about it as soon as she excuses herself from Father’s presence. 

Cley Cerwyn is the first male to come to mind, having always been good friends with her siblings and herself. But then she remembers the time when she’d been ten and he’d pulled her braid, and the time he’d refused to dance with her, even after she’d begged him. She thinks he would also prefer they stay friends rather than wed. 

After some consideration she adds Robin Flint to her list of men that she shall not wed. She’d overheard him talking to Robb and Theon once and had been taken rather aback with the tales of whoring and wenching he’d done within the previous fortnight. She flushes at the memory and buries her face in her hands in embarrassment. 

She’s never met Jojen Reed and worries that she may not like him, or he her. Thus he joins Cley and Robin in her mind. It’s already been a day and she worries that she won’t be able to offer Father a name and she shall die old and unmarried. 

The Ryswell boys are more trouble than they’re worth, in Sansa’s opinion. She is still sore about Rickard’s poking fun at her, Roose throwing snow on her, and Roger’s clumsy attempt to corner her and kiss her – she’s narrowly escaped him, and that had only been due to the fact that she’d called out for Robb and he’d just happened to have been around. 

She thinks of offering Harrion Karstark’s name longer than she’d allowed herself to think of the others. He was a bit older than her, but she’d found him rather handsome, with his perfect nose and short hair. He often kept his beard short, and she wondered what it would feel like against her own face if she were to kiss him. But, for all his handsomeness, his eyes were always fierce in a way that Sansa was unaccustomed to, and it scares her. After two days, she dismisses the idea of marrying Harrion as well. 

Sansa sits in her room, working on her needlework and worrying her lower lip, when she realizes she’d fully forgotten about the Smalljon. She continues to sew as she mulls over him to an extent she’d never thought she would have. He was close to Harrion in age, but easily surpassed him in height the last time she’d seen the two of them together, steel swords clanging against one another as they both attempted to outdo one another in swordsmanship. 

She could recall a time when she was young, perhaps eight or nine, and had pleaded with Father that she be allowed to stay at the dance that the wedding of a minor lord had. She remembered how the Smalljon, somewhere in his late –teen years, had chuckled, then asked for her hand, to dance with, if she were to stay to dance, fully canceling out any argument Father could make to send her to bed. He’d towered over her, but had pulled her to stand on his boot-clad feet so they could dance. She remembers how he’d held her hands in his own so gently, as if she were made of glass, and how she’d spent most of the night standing on his feet. 

He’d never picked on her that she could remember. He’d even once swatted Theon when the ironborn had said something she couldn’t remember but had brought her to tears. Yes, she decides, she’d be quite alright, happy hopefully, marrying the Smalljon. 

Blushing, Sansa brings her choice to Father, who blinks at her then nods after a few heartbeats. He tells her he shall write to the Greatjon approving the marriage proposal. Then it is her turn to blink in confusion, before she flushes redder and excuses herself. 

Mother comes to her later that evening, as she practices her needlework, and brushes her hair. Then Mother has her stand and takes measurements of her arms, legs, waist, bosom, and hips, while Sansa holds still and watches with curiosity in her eyes. Her mother ‘hmm’s quite a bit, before clearly stating that she’d “thought so.” After she is finished she kisses Sansa’s brow, then departs. 

The lords of the North arrive before the Greatjon and the Smalljon arrive, a good five days later, with a small group of House Umber’s men. The entirety of Winterfell had been bustling with activity, preparations she’s had to remind herself. Sansa blushes and means to approach her future husband before she is dragged away by a giggling Beth Cassel and a grinning Jeyne Poole. 

Both girls have a strong grip on either of her wrists and drag her after them. They’re both giggling and they pull Sansa into Mother’s chambers, warmer than the rest of Winterfell’s castle. Jeyne releases her hold on Sansa to throw herself against the door, giggles still falling from her lips, effectively and securely closing it. She turns to Sansa, smiling widely, then her eyes move to something behind Sansa, and Sansa cannot help but turn around in confusion. 

She gaps at the dove grey and lace dress set across her mother’s bed. After staring for a moment, she moves towards it, reaching out a hand to touch the delicate fabric. She looks to her mother, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Lady Catelyn wrapped her in her arms and kissed her temples. Eyes still bright with unshed tears, she looked to Beth and Jeyne as well, giggling no longer, and smiling slyly to her. 

“We’d been helping Lady Stark before you chose your husband, it was all we could really think to do for you.” Beth looks up to her from lowered lashes, a smile still on her lips. She’s so pretty, Sansa notices, not for the first time, with her curly auburn hair, and she prays that Harwin will treat her well once they are wed. 

Sansa opens her mouth as if to say something, tears beginning to slide down her face, before Jeyne interrupts her. 

“Let’s get you washed up so you can put it on, shall we? I’m sure Lady Stark would love to see you in it.” 

The bath is warm, and she’s never felt as clean as she feels when she removes herself from the water. She is dried with thorough care, and she feels her cheeks flush. Though she has known she would be wed soon, it’s only at that moment she realizes she and the Smalljon are to be wed that evening. She blushes more, but makes quick work of pulling her smallclothes, then shift on, though her hands have begun to shake. She requires assistance lacing her dress, and by the time they are through, she is fully shaking, nerves finally acting up. 

Mother shoos Jeyne and Beth out of her room before she sits down and goes to retrieve a brush for her hair. She smiles to her daughter, truly a beauty, then begins to brush all of her long hair. 

“My girl, about to be wed. Goodness, this will be the last time then, won’t it?” 

Sansa turned her head to look at her mother. The Lady of Winterfell had tears in her eyes, though she smiled through them. She takes her mother’s hands in her own and smiles reassuringly up to her, before bringing their hands up to rest against her cheek. She does not want to voice her fear that this will indeed be the last time her mother ever brushes her hair. 

After this everything moves far faster than she’d anticipated them. It is only when her father is walking her through the Godswood to the heart tree that she truly feels this is happening. She beings to shake again as she takes in the sight of her husband-to-be standing there, his father behind him with a cloak that she knows for certain bears the roaring giant of House Umber. Her own father, places a gentle hand at the small of her back, calming her. 

Like when she was a girl, the Smalljon towers over her. She absentmindedly wonders if he will once again offer his feet for her to stand on so they may dance, but flushes at the thought, and turns her attentions back to his reciting of his vows. 

He is rather handsome, she thinks. His hair, dark and reaching his shoulders, and his face freshly shaven. She notices that his nose is crooked, though only a little, as if it’s been broken. 

She smiles up to him as she recites her own vows, pledging herself to him as he had her. 

Her father removes the heavy, direwolf cloak of House Stark, the Greatjon offers the cloak of House Umber to his son, and the Smalljon takes it from him to drape across Sansa’s shoulders. His large hands are gentle on her shoulders and she fears she is shaking again. 

The feast that follows lasts well into the night, music playing loudly, wine flowing freely, and food always before them. She dances with her father, sister, and each of her brothers, even her bastard brother, Jon, whom she cannot help but smile at. 

After a dance with Mors Crowfood, she turns, smiling, to find her dance partner to be her husband. He offers her his hand, which she shyly takes, then pulls her to stand on his boot-clad feet. He smiles down to her, and she rests her head against his chest as they dance. 

It is not long before the bedding is called for, and Sansa begins to blush deeply again, memories of Robb’s wedding to Roslin coming to mind, but smiles to the guests. Galbart Glover makes a bawdy joke as he tears the back of her beautiful dress open, which Cley laughs deeply at as Owen Norrey slices the bodice apart, before Robb swoops in to throw her over his shoulder. She looks over to see Dacey Mormont pushing the Smalljon forward as a handful of girls pulled him down the hall. Their guests follow. 

She is dropped on her marriage bed only moments before the Smalljon is lead in, the group of girls giggling. It takes the combined forces of Dacey and Robb to shoo people from the room, but sure enough, they are left to their own devices. He joins her on the bed, then. He tangles one of his large hands in her hair and kisses her, deeply but carefully. He shifts them so she straddles his hips and Sansa blushes. 

When they are through, his seed mingling with her maiden’s blood on her thighs, he rests his head against her breasts, still breathing at a quickened pace. He brings his hands up from her hips to her shoulders and slips himself out of her before he straightens and pulls her to him. He kisses her temple softly, before lying back with her still against him. He continues to hold her to him with one hand as he uses the other to pull the furs over them. Tiredly, she shifts to place her head in the crook of his neck, arms loosely around his shoulders. 

Sansa inhaled deeply. Her husband, the Smalljon was her husband. Yes, she felt she’d definitely made the correct decision.


End file.
